


Birthday's

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A first of happy birthdays</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday's

**Author's Note:**

> So I once read on tumblr someones take on a canon for the Holmes family where their current father in the show was not actually their biological father and that their actual father was a child hating, wife beating monster and that their mother took her Mycroft and Sherlock at an early age and ran away with them, and then only later ended up with current TV father. So yes this is the AU that I am going to go with. 
> 
> I'm sort of stuck on my other story so here is something in its absence. Its not abandoned though.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Tiredly he pressed the palms of his hands into his burning eyes. It was another late night in the office, once again preventing another crisis or the other that threatened the safety of Britain and the free world, so in others words just another day of work for one Mycroft Holmes. Well that is not entirely true he thought, it was in fact his birthday. 

Mycroft had learned from an early age that birthdays really were held no significance and was just another day. As a young boy, birthday or not Mummy and father still took very little notice of himNever one to be interested or take part in such frivolities, such as birthdays and birthday parties, the memories of the day flooded his mind.

Mycroft had learned from an early age that birthday’s were not days of celebration; with laughter, cake and presents, in fact quite the opposite actually. Not one to dwell on the past, Mycroft could not help but think of him, his actual, biological father.  
  
Before that night where his mother had stole away into the dark of night clutching his hand tightly and Sherlock bundled in her arms, it was ever far from good. There was no love lost between his parents, a marriage born between two wealthy families looking to further climb the social ladder of society.  
  
Most of the time he was never in fear for his life from his father; he would yell, scream, and belittle him, but rarely would he lay a hand on him, especially if his mother were around. It was because of this that Mycroft would later develop the notion of a mind palace, a place that he could retreat to, a place where he could go when he shut down off of his emotions and feelings in order to protect them and not let his father use them against him. Caring was not an advantage he had learn, especially when it could be used against you.  
  
Getting further lost in thought, he remembered with a shudder the bunny he had found and befriended when he was 4. He would take it scraps of vegetables every day, and sit out in the garden as he watched it explore and hop about; he loved e bunny, it was his first companion in the tense and often lonely house. However one day, he had returned home from nursery school and went out back to feed his friend when he came upon a sight, his bunny, glassy eyed, lying motionless on the grass; its neck bent at a funny angle that could mean nothing but death.

With tears in his eyes, little Mycroft ran into the house, only to stop short at the sight of his father watching him with a twisted smile on his lips and a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Something the matter boy” he purred.

Looking up at his father with tears running down his face, the small 4 year old sniffled, “M-my bunny...” he trailed off quietly.

With a snarl his father grabbed him up by his shirt front, his feet dangling in the air as he was brought face to face with his father. “Yours?! Yours?! Let that be a lesson to you boy, in this house you have nothing; I own everything under this room and if I wish it I can have it be rid of, including you” He says and drops the small boy unceremoniously to the floor and walking away with a grunt.

With a sigh Mycroft shook his head as if to dispel the memories that use to haunt him when he was a child and younger man, that now, although unpleasant did not hold the same power over him as it use to.

His father, he scoffed with a terse snort. Mycroft was not usually one to get his hands dirty, but for his father he made the exception, after all he was family, he thought, his mood darkening. His father’s ultimate demise was the first that came directly from his hands. Mycroft remembered the shock in his father’s eyes when he realized the man who was standing in front of him with a gun was none other than his eldest son. And then how that shock had slowly turned to smug bemusement.

With a harsh laugh the man in front of Mycroft ground out “My pathetic, weak, little disgrace of a son. Please boy, don’t make me laugh, you were spineless then and I doubt that bitch of a mother, could ever teach you how to be a man like I did”

“A man?! A man?! A man does not hit children! A man does not hit a woman! You’re not a man, you are nothing but a monster” the younger Mycroft yelled at his father. With a grim determination shining in his eyes, he once more leveled the gun with his father, “I guess I do have to thank you for one thing that your ‘lessons’ has made possible. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be able to do this” and with that he let off round after round, taking a dark, grim satisfaction as he saw the life leave his father’s eyes. For his mother, for his brother, for him; no longer would this monster cause them any more duress.

The steady tick tock of the clock brought him out of his reminiscing. Letting out a long breath he looked up at the clock, only 10am. Usually he would not have come into work on his birthday, he rarely did. It was always a day that no matter how hard he tried would always bring up terrible memories of the past. That, and flurry of meaningless platitudes and groveling of his staff. It meant nothing; they would just go back to fearing him and scuttling the very next day.

Shaking his head, he would not get any work done today he thought. Slipping on his suite jacket, Mycroft decided he would go check up on his baby brother.


End file.
